


Rebuilding the Castle

by GhostHost



Series: A Pack[ed] Unit [1]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Alien Culture, Cuddle Pile, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, More tags to be added, Pack Dynamics, Past Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Torture, but werewolf like pack dynamics, not a/b/o
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-30
Updated: 2017-06-19
Packaged: 2018-05-10 09:05:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5579581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GhostHost/pseuds/GhostHost
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the disbanding of the Autobots, Ratchet decides to build himself a new unit aboard the Lost Light. Of course, due to Rodimus's inability to enlist anyone sane on the ship, his unit is filled with misfits, traitors and idiots.  But they are his, and he's going to  make it work, Primus be damned. Collected here are the stories of the first mechs he's Claimed, as told from a variety of perspectives. </p><p>Or</p><p>  Cybertron social constructs look absolutely nothing like the silly human concept of "werewolf packs" thank you very much.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ambulon

**Author's Note:**

> As always! If I missed any warnings tell me and I will include them and please tell me if you see any mistakes! I don’t have an editor, but AO3 makes fixing shit easy. 
> 
> So! Today we have, for your reading pleasure, alien robots with shitty, paranormal romance werewolf pack dynamics. I love me some shitty paranormal romance, (and really just paranormal anything, I have a problem) and I wrote one scene, and then another, and I got to about four when I realized this train had no breaks. I'm up to what looks like three separate fics in scenes. 'Cause ya know, I didn't have enough things to write already. 
> 
> As an overhead; your typical werewolf pack dynamics are in effect. (Hereby known as ‘Units’ for the robots because it sounds nice.) There are no actual werewolves in the series, nobody turns into a wolf, I just like the dynamics. This is thus similar to A/B/O dynamics, in that there is a “Head” (Alpha of a unit) various classes of ‘Betas’ (who are just named based on their roles) and an ‘Omega’ (still called an Omega because I’m boring, but sometimes called a floater, for their ability to drift seamlessly into different units.) but I cut out the knotting and typical culture A/B/O dynamics usually run on and I’m adding in “pack power.” There’s just a hierarchy of robots-who is above and below you in the unit, and some mechs being more aggressive/protective than others. The hierarchy doesn’t necessarily depend on who is physically stronger, but rather who is the best to lead, and often by the order they joined in. Units are ranked by a number of reasons. Submissive doesn’t mean unwilling to fight, etc, etc.
> 
> I am largely inspired by the (not at all shit bless her wonderful writing) Patricia Briggs's Mercy Thompson/Alpha Omega series, and to some extent, by a lotta books I just tried to list and made this paragraph waaay to long. Because I was largely inspired for this by Patricia Briggs universe, I mimicked her world-wide werewolf pack structure for the Autobots-with the army composed of units made up of other units. Each unit responding to the more powerful unit nearest them, all the way up to Optimus Prime, who was Head of the Command unit, (which was comprised of the top Heads of the other units such as Spec Ops, Medical, etc.) and of course, the entire army.
> 
> But I don’t want to explain the whole thing-let’s learn the fun way! Light’s, camera, action!

The Lost Light’s Medical Unit

The Beginning

* * *

 

The Autobot army was functioning in everything but name. The war might’ve been over-the Command Units broken up and the rest scattered about, but several millennia of working with a certain hierarchy and general way of life didn’t suddenly disappear because the war ended a little differently than everyone thought it would.

Optimus Prime removing himself not only as the head but also as Prime had fucked with everything. They had still expected him to lead, even when he had stepped down. Turn the current social structure into something more fit for civilian life.

See, most of them thought there was some kind of plan in place for such a thing. Most were very disappointed to realize they were wrong. Ultra Magnus was quick to remind everyone that there had been such a plan at one point or another. Problem was, the war went on a little bit longer than anticipated. It also killed a few several billion more mechs than expected. Plans got a little dashed in the long run.

With what was definitely a whole lot of uncertainty looming ahead of them, and what looked to be Starscream physically looming over Cybertron, mechs had a few choices to make. The kinds no one ever wanted to make. They could stay. Ride it out. Hope their unit stayed as well. Continue as though things weren’t getting weirder by the minute.

Or they could go. Not just with the _Lost Light_ , though that was definitely the best option for many purely due to it at least having the illusion of a mission. One could remove themselves from their old unit, old life. Start again. Find a place in the stars, retire on a planet friendly to Cybertronians.

Ambulon wasn’t planning on doing any of these things.

This was because Ambulon was still on Delphi.

By the time Ambulon joined the _Lost Light_ , the newness had worn off a bit. People had settled into roles, into units. An order had been established. An entirely Autobot order. Because as much as everyone claimed it wasn’t, this was an Autobot ship. It should have made him feel better, considering the badge on his chest, but reality is always different from what we wish it could be. He was absolutely ecstatic to get off Delphi, more so to get away from Pharma (‘ _May he have died, oh please Primus above, make him dead.’_ Ambulon didn’t even care if it was a slow or agonizing death, he just wanted the fragger dead.) but the happiness lasted about as long as it took for him to make his way to his new habsuite.

He had completed his initiation on Delphi. He had gone through the entirety of Pharma’s idea of “redemption.” He had been _accepted._ He had thought that, just maybe, he could get away with no one realizing he was a ‘Con traitor as long as he convinced First Aid to keep his mouth shut, but no, of course they knew. The list of mechs who’d switched sides, particularly as late in the war as he had, was a short one. It didn’t used to be, but no one counted the start of the war. Nope, they just counted middle and on and sure enough, most the bots on board knew his past. If they didn’t than they sure did by the end of his first week.

His paint job didn’t help him any. Neither did nervously picking at it until it was noticeably worse.

It wasn’t the stares or whispers that made him anxious though. It wasn’t the hesitation or the blatant distrust from a number of mechs. It wasn’t even the spat names and hissed threats a few threw at him when they were certain they could get away with it

It was having to join another unit.

Another unit under Ratchet. The Autobot CMO and most feared medic on either side of the war. The one they told stories about. Ratchet the Hatchet.

Ratchet who was _good friends with Pharma._

Ambulon tried to keep his fingers off his paint. Pity the entire reason he was striping it was to keep his armor from rattling. He could do this. He kept telling himself. He’d survived worse than this. If others saw his fears they’d sneer-how could a Decepticon be so afraid of an Autobot?! Afraid enough for it to physically show? No ‘Con showed such weakness! Especially not when the fears were caused by an Autobot medic, the softest of them all!

Of course, most of them weren’t afraid of medics, when they absolutely should have been.

He was.

But it was more than that. The Autobots were different than the Decepticons. What had started as a slight discrepancy throughout the war had led to a chasm of social differences, and Autobot culture was so far out there that Ambulon often had to remove himself from situations to stop the panic attacks. There were assurances, in the ‘Cons. Over who would attack you and who would protect you. There was a structure. It might not come through on the battlefield, and perhaps it had died in the main Units when Megatron had gone mad, but in the mass majority of Decepticon Units? It existed. There was a hierarchy. There were rules.

You could protect yourself, there. You could fight back, or find someone you agreed with who would fight for you. For the things you brought to your unit. They would respect your space, respect you and your choices. As long as it didn’t affect the unit as a whole, no one cared.

It was different here. Completely different.

He didn’t always know all the rules.

Ambulon may have been forced to flee from the ‘Cons, may have grown disillusioned with what they-their movement-had become. He might have been physically destroyed by an experiment gone wrong-one he had been pressured into by those who should have protected him-but he still couldn’t handle this.

Not if it was going to be a repeat of Pharma.

But what other choice did he have?

He wasn’t Cyclonus. He’d already pledged himself to the Autobots and he wasn’t physically capable of removing himself from them at this point. He wasn’t emotionally capable either-he couldn’t loan mech it. He knew he couldn’t. Not after the gestalt trials. And he was a medic. If Ratchet refused him, what other skills did he have to offer? He didn’t even have a passable alt mode anymore! He had nothing.

Nothing at all.

So Ambulon took a harsh vent and went. Showed up for the special time set aside in the medbay.

The time set aside for Ratchet to Claim him and First Aid as a part of his Unit.

He didn’t usually pray, had never before he defected, but he found himself doing it more and more. He certainly did it here.

_‘Please Primus let me be strong enough to survive this.’_

xXx

He couldn’t hide his nervousness.

Ambulon knelt, in the center of the medbay, back ramrod straight. First Aid, who knelt beside him, brushed their servos together.

He’d never admit it, but he was grateful for it.

His last few times changing units had gone- well, he wasn’t certain how to describe the horrors of the grotesque experiment that had killed the rest of his last Decepticon unit in a way that did it justice. Similarly, he found himself choked every time he tried to talk about Pharma. Though that might have been more of Pharma’s doing than anything else-the doctor wasn’t a psychiatrist but he was good at classical conditioning.

Now Ambulon was to be apart of a larger unit-and he couldn’t, wouldn’t admit that Ratchet frightened him. The CMO was louder than Pharma had ever been. His aim much, much better. He and Pharma had been close, and it wasn’t much of a mental leap to assume that that had meant Ratchet enjoyed a lot of the same things Pharma did.

That, like Pharma, he would assume Ambulon could take things no one else could, because of his past.

His platting began to rattle again. Ambulon struggled hard to get it under control before Ratchet noticed. First Aid twisted slightly to give him a worried look.

“Sorry ‘bout the wait mechs, Rodimus decided to bestow me with his presence.” Ratchet’s voice was heavy with sarcasm and discontentment as he entered the medbay. Logically Ambulon knew it was the default voice of the medic (though he appeared slightly grumpier after any encounter with the Captain.) than it was anything like anger or frustration. There wasn’t a day he’d been here that Ratchet hadn’t been grumpy-but his stress spiked anyway. “Let’s get started. Who wants to go first?”

Ratchet’s barely looking at them, instead rubbing his hands clean with a cloth he’d pulled from a table. After a pause, First Aid cleared his throat and volunteered. Ambulon feels his field slip again-he knows First Aid can teek his relief. He closes his optics and tries not to lose it..

It’s over to soon. Ratchet’s said the ritualistic words, passes the coding down through various wires he plugged into First Aid. There’s a number of ways one can accept a unit member, all of which depend on where you are in the unit-but as the Head, Ratchet had every option available to him. Leave it to a medic to take the cleanest route.

First Aid’s head bwoed. He remains on his knees before Ratchet, venting quickly as his programming runs. Accepts. Medics, Ambulon’s told, are different than you average mech when connecting to a unit. Medic’s have special coding, and require more care from a unit due to the amount of stress they tend to operate under. They carry more coding on average, to protect them from the numerous things they treat. Because both Ratchet and First Aid are medics, it takes their coding a while. Unit bonds aren’t spark bonds, but rather something shared through wifi, fields, and shared coding. Unit coding. The latter was something unique to its Head, but always followed the same pattern-it was coding that was freely shared among all mechs in a unit. A unit mate could be removed, another could be added, but the coding ultimately decided a number of things.

Among them was a number of capabilities-such as pulling almost any information from its members. Unit Heads were the only mechs with access to that information and typically the only one who could demand it. It was often said what a unit member or mate knew, a Head knew, but the reality was that was less coding and more the social construct centered around units. The coding combined, made mechs feel like a part of a whole, well, unit. Thus, unit members were close to one another-they felt better, more whole, when together.

It was what the gestalt technology had been based upon-the unit codings and the question of “what if they could physically combine?”

Amublon tries to force his thoughts away from that. That question and the several that followed it hadn’t led to anything good. He should know, of anyone. The fact that a unit’s invisible ties so closely resembled the gestalt tech might have made him sick, but it was unavoidable.

He had to get through this.

It takes a while for all the coding to take, but they all know when it does. First Aid’s vocalizer makes a warbling noise and Ratchet leans down slightly, extending a hand.

First Aid takes it without looking, leting the larger mech pull him up. Slowly, gently, Ratchet bumps helms with him. “Welcome to the team, kid.” He said, voice filled with a gentle warmth. First Aid relaxes against him, mumbling something back that might have been words. Ambulon Isn't sure, he’s busy trying to get his fans not to kick on. Though often a sign of attraction, fans also run when a body is stressed, and frag is Ambulon stressed.

 _‘Don’t panic, don’t panic, don’t panic,'_ He chants to himself. He can’t afford to panic. He’s too vulnerable here and it's a bad first impression for his new Head. He sits still instead. Not moving an inch. A perfect example of discipline.

(A very long time from now, Ratchet would tell him he looked like a “deer in the headlights.” He had no idea what that was and Ratchet botched the explanation attempt but he knew his Head meant he’d frozen. He agreed because he had. )

Ratchet gently disconnects the wires from First Aid, spooling them back until they lay in his hands. He makes sure the nurse has sat down in a chair before turning to Ambulon.

The ward managers vent catch. He desperately hopes no one notices. Ratchet certainly doesn’t seem to. He moves to cover the things he can’t, walking over and sinking down in front of Ratchet. Same place First Aid had. ‘Aid had survived-of course, this was just the initial acceptance. The first pull, the first time his code would accept Ratchet’s as his unit Head and react appropriately. He was certain there would be more times coming soon and none of them pleasant. The initial Claim took no time at all, but it took more than that to properly take a mech into a unit.

Ratchet had cleaned his wires after First Aid. He reaches for Ambulon, but looks into his face and stops. He stares, for a long time, analyzing. Ambulon would have frozen if he wasn’t already so still. He knows that look. He’s seen it on Pharma and its never followed by anything good.

“Easy.” Ratchet palms all the cables into one hand. The other finds its way to Ambulon’s shoulder. “Are you alright?” Ambulon can feel a diagnostic scan run over his frame. He forces down a shudder.

“I’m fine.” He gets out. Another thought strikes him though, one so horrible he’s voiced half it before trailing off; “You aren’t rejecting…”

“No, no! Primus kid, no. Just making sure. I’m not in the business of forcing anyone.”

It almost makes Ambulon laugh. Not forcing anyone? What other option does he have? You have to have two solid choices to have an option! But he keeps his mouth shut, like a good unit member. He wants this after all. Wants to work in the medbay.

Wants to remain in the Autobots.

He can do this. No matter how bad Ratchet ends up being. He can do this. He’ll survive. He didn’t make it this far not to.

He allows Ratchet to plug himself in and waits for his programming to connect him to his new unit.

xXx

It had been three weeks without an incident.

Ratchet remained grumpy-Ambulon knows for certain now that’s just his default personality. He does well, even if every time the CMO waves a wrench he has to cover a flinch. He’s a ‘Con, he’s good at controlling his weaknesses and he’s certain Ratchet is none the wiser.

He misses the concerned looks, silent, quick scans, and general worry.

A unit Head establishes a bond far quicker than any other member of the unit. It’s only logical, as the unit centers around the Head mech. It means Ratchet can feel the fear coming off Ambulon, if not in its entirety then at least enough to know something’s up.

The medic of course, knew something was up within three days of having Ambulon in his office. Ratchet didn’t get to be CMO by sitting with his thumb up his aft the whole war-he was sharper than most mechs gave him credit for.

Of course, nothing could ever last, and Ambulon quickly found himself in a position he never wanted to be in.

He’d had messed up.

More than messed up. He’d gotten into his first fight since he’d been here, destroyed equipment, ruined his medical oath ( or rather, part of the medical oath Pharma had made him take-’ _thou shalt not harm. No mech, of either side, ever in anger or in hate.’_ Dumb thing to promise in a war but he hadn’t been in a position to argue against it. Even when Pharma proved himself to be a hypocrite, _repeatedly._ He had no idea of its validity. The Decepticons had no such things, just an underlying respect for the mech who could wield your aft back together.) Worse than all of that-he’d done it all publically.

He was expecting a blow. Punishment. The wrath of not only his boss, but his Head, whom he had failed.

He was not expecting to be pulled into a hug.

Ambulon went stiffly, suddenly far more afraid than he had been. Pharma had been fond of unusual punishments. He could only imagine what Ratchet could come up with in that arena.

But he deserved it. He had failed. He’d messed up. So he went willingly when Ratchet pulled him down, on the couch. When Ratchet pulled him against his heavier frame.

He wasn’t sure what all he was expecting, but it wasn’t for a calm soothing field to descend around them.

It didn’t fool him. Pharma had been like this too. Generous. Forgiving. Until he wasn’t. Until his punishments were actively making Ambulon regret leaving the ‘Cons. At least they were typically upfront about punishment. Straightforward. The kind of twisted things Pharma was capable of wasn’t often handed out unless you’d really fragged up.

After a startled moment, Ambulon realized he wasn’t so certain he could do this again. He was already in trouble, why not push it? Why not see the differences between Ratchet and Pharma? They’d been large thus far-in public.

He hadn’t spent enough time with his Head in private to see how they differed. It was high time he found out. It only took once after all, to know.

He wasn’t so much of a coward that he couldn’t find out.

“I would prefer it if my punishment is given immediately.” He said, trying to keep the static out of his voice. “Instead of dragging it out like this.”

Ratchet’s hands tightened around him for a moment, before relaxing. Opening. Giving Ambulon an out.

“Your punishment is to wash the entire Medbay on your next off cycle.” Ratchet said.

Ambulon waited. When nothing came, he prodded. “Understood, Sir. And for my other punishment?”

He really did hate waiting. Washing might be his official punishment. That wasn’t the one he cared about. It was the personal one, the one he would receive for embarrassing his unit that had his armor slicking in against him.

“Other punishment?” Ratchet’s voice had an odd tone to it. Ambulon, still pulled against his chest, exactly where Ratchet had left him wished he could see his face to gauge what that tone meant. Oh well. He’d learn soon enough.

“Yes Sir.” He said.

There was a long pause. Ambulon tried not to fidget, tried to keep his vents even. Suddenly hands were on him again. They were gentle, as they stroked his helm but Ambulon flinched anyway at the unexpected contact.

“Primus kid, what did Pharma do to you?” Ratchet asked quietly.

“Is that an order-?”

“No.” Ratchet interrupted. A hard x-vent. Ratchet’s vocalizer clicked in an obvious reset. “Ambulon, the only punishment you’ll be receiving is to wash the medbay on your next off cycle. That’s it. What we’re doing here isn’t part of your punishment-if you want to get up you can.” Ambulon remained frozen, unsure if that was a trap. He slowly, carefully rose upwards, turning his face so he could at least read Ratchet’s.

He blinked at what he saw.

He hadn’t been expecting Ratchet to look sad.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Ambulon.” Ratchet said calmly. Too calmly, in the way one talked to an injured mechimal. “You were obviously upset and I was trying to comfort you.” Of course-Ratchet’s bond to him was stronger than it was the other way around. It would take some time before Ambulon could feel his Head as well as Ratchet could sense him. He chided himself for forgetting that.

“If I do anything you don’t like, tell me and I will stop.”

Ambulon nodded at the appropriate moment, more confused than anything. He tried to keep that clear of his field, instead pushing through forced understanding.

Ratchet seemed to catch it. He held optic contact, the blues boring into the ward managers own. “Ambulon.” He continued gently, but in a voice that rang with the power of his position, the power of the ties that bound them together as a unit. “I will stop.”

For a moment, Ambulon believed him.


	2. Ambulon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of these days I’m going to plot out a fic and then follow my outline exactly, instead of letting the fic run wild all over me. 
> 
> So some things about this chapter; I constantly retitle Ambulon’s job because ward manager isn’t one I encounter a lot, and it’s such a bulky job title. I don’t think it was ever stated if he kept that job once boarding the Lost Light either but for this fic we’ll go with it. If you see ‘warden’ written anywhere it just means my brain failed at writing it properly. Pharma might seem a smidgen OOC, but there’s a reason for that that we’ll get into in the next chapter. As for the story itself, I had originally planned each chapter to focus on an individual unit member, with chapter 2 and 3 adding in Rung and Drift respectively. Clearly that went right out the window. Instead I changed it up a bit. We'll see if this works out how I planned it. 
> 
> And finally, I often write disconnected scenes, so if any scene has a part missing, plleeaaaaase tell me. My brain often skips over or adds things that should be there, that aren't actually.

 Warnings: Panic attacks, abuse (both physical and mental) disassociation,  religious undertones and severe culture shock. If I missed something, shoot me a line and I’ll throw it up here!

* * *

 

_Delphi, 11 months after receiving the Autobadge..._

Ambulon was on his way back from Pharma's suit, backstrut straight and helm high. He looked straight ahead, and moved like he didn’t hurt. As long as he faked it like this no one would be able to tell-Pharma was a master medic, after all. He didn’t just know how to make wounds disappear, he knew how to make them so that they were never visible  in the first place.

Except he was shaking.

He couldn’t let First Aid see he was shaking.

He didn’t want anyone else to see either, but especially not the nurse. Ambulon didn’t know when he decided that First Aid wasn’t aware of  Pharma’s ideas of redemption. He didn’t know when he’d decided First Aid was safe either, a friend in the wake of this snowy prison. But just because he  was sympathetic didn’t make him an ally. Not truly, not in this sense. Ambulon just didn’t know him well enough to know how he’d react to Pharma’s actions. Would he approve? Would he agree that Ambulon  deserved it? He’d always assumed no, because Autobots were considered to be the weaker half of the two armies. A year ago he’d have thought an Autobot could never stand to let this kind of abuse slide by.  Now? It was becoming clear that the two warring sides knew nothing of the others culture.

First Aid could be horrified by it all. Or he could actively encourage it.

Ambulon didn’t know.

He didn’t want to know, either. Not now. Not when ‘Aid was one of the few things that got him through the day. And even if Pharma was wrong, was going against the Autocode-what exactly was Aid going to do about it?

They were isolated, shut in, and directly under Pharma’s charge. If there was a chance that Pharma thought ‘Aid sympathized with an ex-Con, if there was a chance he thought ‘Aid would challenge his actions….

Ambulon couldn’t let anything like this happen to him. Unit mates protected one another.

It didn’t matter  if ‘Aid _was_ secretly encouraging Pharma’s behavior. Or agreed with it in any capacity.  Ambulon would uphold the codes he’d been raised with, the ones he honored. If there was a chance First Aid could be hurt than Ambulon would do what he could to minimize it.

He didn’t think he’d survive much longer if he did anything else. _Believed_ anything else.

In Con culture, he would be considered weak for allowing someone to abuse him like Pharma was. But then, Pharma would have been taken out or reigned in long before he ever got to the medic-because it was widely acknowledged that you protected your unit mates rather than harm them. To fail to do so, Primus, to _actively hurt_ a unit mate, was Functionalist behavior. To hurt a medic, a well respected  position and a good luck symbol for any non-medical unit (because a mech who could put your sad aft back together, who would value your life and  keep you in optimal condition was a coveted treasure in a war like theirs.) Was not something even the most insane mechs Ambulon encountered had ever dared try. Medics were handled with care simply because of how rare they were becoming. They were too needed to be dealt harm to.

To find out that was a lie-in both cultures- was something that would haunt him for the rest of his life.

Autobots were supposed to be too weak to handle the harshities of life. They were supposed to be idealists, who came from the wealthier castes. Mechs who never knew what it was like to starve, or be hunted because you deviated from your function. They didn’t know what it meant to need to protect someone who had promised protection to you, at all costs.They agreed that the Functionalists had to go down, that things had to change but the way they went about it would only benefit them. The changes they had originally suggested would  have taken too long to do anything, never seeming to care that by doing things “properly’ they were letting thousands die.

They wanted to save what they could, rather than recognize the system had to be burnt to be rebuilt.

At least, that’s what Decepticons had believed.

They had always thought the Autobots weak from the very beginning,  but they were still fighting them, weren’t they? Your enemy could only be weak once you’d fully defeated them, and they’d never managed that. Caused great blows yes, but at equally great costs. They might have outnumbered the ‘Bots, but at this point, that may only last until both sides went extinct.

Ambulon had jumped ship because he couldn’t handle being put through the gestalt program again. Couldn’t handle being the sole survivor of his entire unit-a unit made specifically for the experiment. They’d keep him until they either killed him or succeeded, he knew that now, and he’d fled. Because that hadn’t been their way, their code. That had nothing to do with fighting to create a better Cybertron, freed from Functionalist rule. That had nothing to do with what he had fought for.

That program had been about nothing more than victory through mindless slaughter. The mental effects it had on either side were uncalculated and uncared for by those in charge. He couldn’t do that. He couldn’t be apart of that. He had thought the Autobots might have changed now, that they might realize that with so many of their species gone, spread out, and Cybertron actively dying that they would be more in line with the old Con codes. In line with wanting to fix and change things instead of just brutally murder anyone who had a different badge than them. That they wouldn’t destroy their own just to take a small victory.

It seemed these days that’s all anyone did. On either side.

Ambulon wondered where he’d gotten those ideas. Where he got it in his processor that he would be accepted despite being an enemy of theirs for centuries. He knew there would be repercussions, he’d known that every mech was an individual and all bases were run slightly differently, but he hadn’t expected his treatment to deviate so wildly from what he thought he was getting into.

He had only fooled himself.

There was no safe places anymore. Now it was just a matter of what evil he had to endure and he honestly didn’t know which one was worse. War experiment? Or a constantly punished sinner?

Neither one? Both of them?

Some days he just didn’t want to live.

“‘’Bu? You okay?” First Aid asked, visor flashing in concern.

Slag. How long had he been standing in front of their habsuit door?

“Don’t call me that.” He muttered as he entered. First aid turned worried optics on him, but his visual scan found nothing and he let Ambulon flop onto his berth without comment. It was obvious he knew something was wrong-it always was.  First Aid’s main personality trait was obsessive, even if the thing he was usually obsessed with wasn’t people.

Ambulon closed his optics as he felt ‘Aids own follow him.

‘Aid wouldn’t ask. He’d spent a lot of effort making sure Aid would know questions weren’t appreciated-that his bad moods were based on arguments with Pharma or issues with patients. Nothing more.

The nurse hadn’t left his spot by the door.

Ambulon knew what he was doing. Aid would be  looking at him, and then at his own berth on the other side of the room, contemplating. Most of Ambulon wanted to be left alone,  to break down in silence, but a small part, a part he wouldn’t admit too desperately wanted Aid to choose him. To come over.

To make things just a tiny bit better.

Decision made, Aid took two loud steps towards Ambulon’s berth and he tried not to ex-vent in relief.

He let him come, scooting over ever so slightly in acceptance. Aid walked loudly so he could be rejected, but Ambulon never even bothered to online his optics.  Aid curled around him quietly, shuffling until he was comfortable. His EM field stretched, ever so carefully, asking permission. Ambulon slowly let his own mingle with it, relaxing inch by inch as his mind accepted that he was safe, if only temporarily.

After a while-long enough for ‘Aid to slip into recharge, Ambulon reached back, curling one arm around the others waist. He pulled him close, as close a he could get. He ducked his head into ‘Aid’s chest, took a deep vent  and tried to keep from losing it.

Aid cared about him. Or at least, he appeared to. Whatever else happened, however he came out of this, Ambulon would protect him for that reason alone. Even if this was an act or a misguided attempt at Primus knew what-even if Aid was encouraging Pharma. Their CMO made it clear he didn’t care for Ambulon, no matter how much he toted that get was doing all this out of love. He made it clear in the same way Aid made it clear he did care-through actions. At the end of the day, Aid was soft words and worried looks that contrasted with Pharma’s hissed reprimands and brutal judgments.

Ambulon cast his loyalties accordingly.

Even if it killed him, he’d do right by his own moral code and no one elses, no matter which side he stood on.

He didn’t want to live, but as long as Aid kept holding him like this he would.

 

xXx

_The Lost Light, 2 Earth months after joining Ratchet’s Unit..._

Ambulon didn’t show a lot of affection.

First Aid had always assumed this was due to his past as a Decepticon. ( Because what Decepticon hugged another? Or cuddled, or comforted, or cared?) Frankly he’d assumed all of Ambulon’s behaviors had been because of his past-if not the Cons than the experiment he’d been through. First Aid knew a little of it-the little Pharma had made him explain when Ambulon first asked to defect.

Ever since Ratchet had started asking questions, ‘Aid had begun to reconsider.

How did Pharma discipline? What were Pharma’s expectations? How was he treated by Pharma? All good questions that were blatantly phishing for more information, and not about him. It was enough to cause concern, and get ‘Aid worked up enough to want some answers of his own. To questions  things he’d let slide, or assumed he couldn’t ask because well, you just didn’t go digging around someone who had been used as an unwilling medical experiment by his own side.

He couldn’t take it anymore though-and unlike Ratchet, he had no problems going straight to the source.

“Ratchet thinks Pharma did something to you.” He said. It wasn’t a question, it was a statement, and one he expected an answer too.

Ambulon, who’d come into the living room of their connected habsuits, froze.

“What?”

“You heard.” All medics learned eventually that the best way to get answers was to be blunt. Asking straight away instead of edging around it could startle the answer you needed right out of them-instead of having to drag it out.

It worked surprisingly well, even those who were trained to do it.

“That’s ridiculous.” Ambulon’s optics had gone comically wide, his plating slicking down. Someone else might have just thought him surprised, but not the nurse. Aid knew him well enough to see the lie.

“Is it? ‘Cause he’s kinda making sense.”

Ambulon’s fingers clenched and un-clenched. “I said that’s ridiculous.” He tried to scoff, but it came out forced.

Aid had started this conversation by making sure he blocked the exit. Or at least, the exit out of their unit’s hab. He could chase Ambulon into as many connecting rooms (currently not many) as he liked. They were all medics, they all had access to the override codes. Something Ambulon clearly knew, because despite the look he shot at the door, he remained where he was.

Aid took that as a good sign. He started to approach his unit mate, voice ticking up in concern. “He’s been asking all these questions, and you know I respect you enough to not ask but I’m starting to think I should have-”

“Asking wouldn’t have gotten you anywhere, Aid. Just drop it.” Ambulon interrupted An almost desperate air was beginning to overtake him. Aid ignored it.

“-especially about what Pharma was doing because he told me you wanted to prove yourself, take all those extra shifts, but some of them weren’t shifts, were they? I thought it was odd that you weren’t in the actual medbay for some of them but-”

“Aid.” Ambulon said warningly. First Aid was practically on top of him now, but his fears had broken his determination and he began to pace in front of his unit mate.

“-Pharma said you were just helping him, but if Pharma was the one that was ordering it than that means...Primus, why didn’t you tell me?” Aid spun at that, looking accusingly at Ambulon.

Who flinched.

“What would you have done?” Ambulon said quietly, after a moment.He refused to look at Aid, instead tilting his head down, optics studying the floor.

Being submissive.

“I would have helped you!” Aid tried not to yell, not when Ambulon looked like that (and it was so wrong to see him like this.  Ambulon was an equal to him, _never_ submissive. Even when giving one of his grumbled half-apologizes when he and Aid had gone to far with their arguments.) He didn’t quite succeed.

“It would have been our word against his. I was too new, and I didn’t know if I could trust you.” Ambulon spoke so quietly, nearly a whisper and that too  grated on First Aid.

This was wrong. This was _all wrong._

“I could have done something!” Yup, definitely yelling now, but he tried to show he wasn’t yelling at Ambulon. Sent through their unit bonds that he wasn’t really upset with him. Well, he was-but he was more upset at himself. How had he not caught this? How had he not seen!? Ratchet hadn’t been there and Ratchet had caught it immediately and Ambulon had _lived with him for his entire stay in Delphi!_

Primus above, more importantly, he had been a unit mate of ‘Aids for that time as well. He should have been able to feel something-except no, because Ambulon was good at blocking the bonds. At telling him that he did it because he needed to concentrate on a patient or a question Pharma was asking him and _all of that had been lies, Primus!_

It was like the world was falling down around him. Aid didn’t realize his pacing had grown a little frantic until Ambulon stepped into his path. Their bonds, having never broken since they were originally created in Delphi, were strong enough for Ambulon to feel-well Aid wasn’t sure what all he’d projected but it was enough to break some of that  weird submissive behavior. Ambulon reached out, placing a hand on his shoulder, bond pulsing with a calmness that clearly aimed to steady.

“You did enough Aid.”He said.

“No I did not-”

“Aid.” Ambulon let his helm fall to meet First Aid’s, before pulling him into a hug. His voice remained small, quiet.  “You did enough.”

As he thought before, Ambulon didn’t show a lot of affection.

And when he did,  it was always when no one else could witness, and carefully given. Ambulon would allow Aid to recharge with him, even curled against him, but he rarely relaxed or returned the cuddling, and when he did it was when he thought Aid was out. The touches he gave were always quick, easy for those watching to miss, and to an Autobot, could barely be classified as friendly let alone affectionate,  but to the ward manager they seemed to be everything.

So when Ambulon didn’t pull away; when he allowed Aid to hug him like he might vanish before the nurses optics, when he continued to allow it when Aid had enough of standing and decided they had both better get some sleep before their shit, when he followed him into his berth, ‘Aid knew he’d gotten somewhere.

“I’m so sorry.” First Aid  said after they’d gotten comfortable. He pulled his helm up, just enough to look his unit mate in the optics. “I am so, so sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

Aid went to protest-but Ambulon cut him off.

“I got you out of the deal, didn’t I?” It was muttered more than anything-to the point First Aid honestly wasn’t sure if Ambulon had meant for him to hear it, but his park clenched none the less.

He held Ambulon tighter-and didn’t let go until well after he’d fallen into recharge.

 

xXx

 

“Ratchet’s still worried about you.” Aid said the next morning, before they had to get up for their shifts.

Ambulon said nothing. He move as First Aid stood up, stretching to get the kinks of out of his back.

“He’s nothing like Pharma.” He added, when Ambulon remained silent.

“How are you sure?” Ambulon said it so quietly ‘Aid almost missed it.

A thousand things jumped to Aid’s mine; Ratchet’s reputation, his code, his medical background that was so infamous that not a medic in their army didn’t know stories of it. Ambulon wouldn’t care for any of that though-he wouldn’t find the many stories of Ratchet’s selflessness proof.

“Do you trust me?” Aid said suddenly. Ambulon blinked at him,

“Yes.” He said it hesitantly, as though he wasn’t sure admitting it was the best idea.

“Then trust that he’s different. I can’t make you believe me, and I think you’re not going to accept any answer until he proves that he’s different but in the meantime-trust me. And come to me if he does anything that makes you uncomfortable.”

Ambulon said nothing-he didn’t have too. His field spoke for him.

Nothing in it was good-and Aid was determined to put some peace in it.

“This isn’t Delphi. He’s not at the top of the chain of command here. You have options Ambulon. And no matter what you choose, I’ll be right beside you.”

Ambulon’s look of tired disbelief abruptly formed into a different kind of disbelief-one used when something unexpected happened. The kind of shocked that came with seeing a miracle.

Ambulon’s field reached out, testing Aid’s. “You mean that.” He said after a moment.

“Of course!”

Ambulon rose up from the berth slowly, then engulfed Aid in a tight hug.

“Thank you.” It was hardly more than a whisper, but Aid just hugged him back, equally as tight, and didn’t mention the static in his unit-mates voice.

 

xXx

He didn’t want to admit it, but Ratchet had him in knots.

Ambulon didn’t always do well with Autobot social norms or expectations, but he _really_ didn’t do well with Ratchet’s version of them. It wasn’t even that the CMO was doing something awful, just that he was doing things  differently from Pharma and well, there had been a level of expectation there that Ambulon had grown accustomed too.

Pharma had been all about rituals. He was the best. The brightest. He demanded that his unit be similar-proper, worthy little unit mates who adored him and made him look good.  He’d required  Ambulon submit to him multiple times, each time using his Head bond to comb through his subordinates processors. He was looking for “signs of desertion” from his rules, he claimed. Signs Ambulon was still thinking in “Decepticon ways.”  

The process had been painful-bonds weren’t meant to be used like that.

He’d gone further than that of course. Found ways to “strengthen their bonds” that had done more mental damage than even the ward manager realized. He’d been forced to try and guess Pharma’s moods, play his games, because if he didn’t, if he failed to read his Pharma correctly...

Some days even Pharma couldn’t hide the damage he’d done. He’d hidden it with clever lies and a sad act that would have gotten awarded had it been repeated on a stage.

Those days were the worst-the days he feared for.

Ambulon had been well tuned to his Head,  too fearful to slip up. He knew what was expected, and by the end Pharma had taken to actively forcing him to break rules to invoke punishment, simply because Ambulon had known him so well. Known what to expect.

He didn’t know what Ratchet expected of him.

And that made him nervous.

His bonds, the coding that connected them had solidified enough for the ward manager to realize that Ratchet was watching him. And that was never a good thing, no matter what side you were on.

Yet, his boss  didn’t make a move, and Ambulon couldn’t bring himself to confront him again. He’d thought he couldn’t handle not knowing, but the longer Ratchet went without doing anything that he expected, the more he differed, the more Ambulon questioned himself.  What if this was some kind of test, or trial? What if this scrutiny was simply because of his status as an ex con?

What if he brought attention to it and he made it all worse?

That was his biggest fear after all. To make it worse. Because currently, things weren’t actually going that badly. He and First Aid worked well together, regardless of their differences and general opinions of the others medical abilities. They liked one another even, not that anyone could tell with how often they argued. Ratchet, grumpy personality or no, was a good CMO and put work before anything else. ‘Aid liked him, even with Ratchet’s subtle pushing to let the badge obsession go and focus more on his work.

‘Aid hadn’t liked Pharma, no matter how quiet he was about it. Which was largely why Ambulon trusted him so much now. The other mech hadn’t been put through what he had, hadn’t been forced to go on trial for his sins, but he’d disagreed enough with Pharma to understand that Pharma both played and punished, unfairly.

So when Ambulon got a message from Ratchet to meet with him, in his office _, privately_ , Ambulon found himself fighting down a surge of panic.

_This is it. This is how it starts._

How many times was he going to have to repent? To prove that he was worth the badge he carried on his chest? How many times would he need to suffer under cold optics until it was decided he could live like a proper Autobot?

Pharma had been so fond of those words. _Proper Autobot._

He never really had lived up to Pharma’s expectations, even if he claimed Ambulon had “passed” his tests.

Would he be able to live up to Ratchet’s?

“Easy kid, easy. Vent in, vent out. Come on, come back…”

Ambulon blinked, the harsh lights of the medbay blurring out the room.

“There you go.”

The pit? He didn’t remember-well anything beyond the panic that had overtaken him thinking of Ratchet and Pharma and-frag! Was he on the floor!? Ambulon looked up confused-Primus dammit, he was on the floor!-and into the concerned optics of his CMO.

Ambulon’s vents abruptly caught and he choked as fear flooded him.

Ratchet had caught him not only slacking off but being _weak._ This was how a mech in a unit got kicked out. It didn’t matter if you were weaker than your unit mates, you didn’t run around fragging showing it! And on duty too.  What was wrong with him!

He knew what was wrong with him. It didn’t help any.

Because worse than that, he’d shown more than a weakness. This was exactly the kind of thing Pharma was looking for. The little cracks in his armor, the weaknesses that he could exploit and by Primus he was going to be _destroyed_ for this!

“Oh for-”

Ambulon didn’t catch the rest of what his boss said, his audios had malfunctioned in his state of panic. In an odd, displaced moment, Ambulon recalled that severe surges of panic and fear could cause audio and visual malfunctions, as well as other issues, as a mechs body became convinced something was wrong or was injured.

It wasn’t the first time something like it had happened to him, but it was the first time it had happened to him on this level.

 _‘How odd.’_ He thought, right before the disconnection ended and he dropped down into a dark well of clawed panic.

He couldn't see, he couldn’t vent, and his fear rose as he realized he could barely feel himself. Ice crawled along his circuits, digging into his protoform like daggers. It felt like he was fritzing, spiraling out of control and unable to stop-until he hit something warm. With everything he had left in him, Ambulon clung to it. Tried to use it to force the ice-the _fear_ -away.

Ever so slowly it did just that. The sharp coldness retreated in the face of that warmth and it took Ambulon a moment to realize he hadn’t hit anything, but rather, was being held.

At least, he thought he was being held.

Rational thought was hard-it had to weave through layers of panic, but it came through. A tight grip grounded him, seeming to squeeze life back into him. He wondered briefly if this was Primus-pulling him back from the pit-but no, no he realized that wasn’t right either.

Mostly because his optics had came back on.

His HUD followed, his visual display static filled and jagged at the edges. His HUD ran lines of errors, most of which he ignored in favor of watching his world shift slowly from black and white to color. His audio came back at a similar, crawling pace. A near piercing humming at first, and then background noise, slowly turning up until the sounds of the medbay surrounded him.

The source of the warmth was a tight grip-tight enough for it to almost hurt, but the pressure was grounding, stabilizing. He focused his attention on it, forcing himself to come back, out of the cage of fear.

A field was enveloping him, projecting calmness with a hint of steel determination that could only belong to his current Head. Sure enough Ratchet’s voice suddenly flicked to the front of Ambulon’s mind and he realized that not only was Ratchet holding him, but he was talking. Directly into his audio, in low, soothing murmurs.

In listening to those murmurs, trying to make out the words, Ambulon had the realization that he was having an awful time trying to vent. His sudden attempts to even it out must have alerted Ratchet he was aware, because he tightened his hold.

The pressure oddly helped-Ambulon pushed himself back into his Head as he struggled, vents wheezing. His engine caught and turned over, causing him to shake and he sucked back a whine. Ratchet hummed in between whispering into his audios, telling him he was _okay,_ he was _safe._

“Look at me, kid. Look at me.”

Ambulon obeyed, more out of instinct than anything else. _Ratchet-his unit Head now, not Pharma, never again, Pharma_ -had his helm pressed close.

“You’re not with him. You’re with me.”

And oh, that did it. Feeling ruined, Ambulon felt sobs overtake him. He shook harder not even registering the bond buzzing to life between them. Ratchet rocked the both of them gently. Quietly talked him through it. It was long enough that Ambulon’s alarm signalling the end of his shift had gone off. He dismissed it as he force-rebooted his HUD, trying to get some part of his body under control.

“Go slow with it.” Ratchet murmured. Ambulon obeyed, letting everything come back to normal readings on its own as the errors cleared. A slow pulse of _calm/safe/protected_ wound its way through him via their unit code-it took him a minute for Ambulon to realize it’d been there a while. It took longer to realize that _Ratchet_ was sending it.

He weirdly couldn’t feel First Aid-

“His panic was reinforcing yours. I cut him off from you for the moment-I’ll let him back in once you’re good.”

Ambulon nodded, or at least he thought he did, he wasn’t sure. He was tired. So tired.

And as things slowly drifted to normal, he became exhausted and _extremely_ embarrassed.

His faceplates heated. If Ratchet knew he didn’t let on. He had to know-Ambulon realized after a moment- because the CMO had his turned his head so he was pressed against Ambulon’s.

He felt stupid for even thinking of it a moment later, because the bonds were still wide open.

_‘Stupid and useless.. Good job idiot. Now do something-show you’re okay now that you can!’_

“You’re going to want to talk about this.” Ambulon managed after a while of just sitting there, trying to think. It was something of a joke, the only thing he think of to show he was somewhat alright. Ratchet snorted and amusement rolled through his field, so at least he’d succeeded there.

“Something like that, yeah.” Ratchet said. He moved his head back to get a better look at his subordinate. A layer of paint came away with him, sticking to the CMO’s face. “We’re going to need to deal with that too.” Ratchet said, after wiping the flecks off. “You back with me fully?”

Ambulon took stock of himself. His shaking had finally settled, engine off. His HUD no longer spewed errors now that he’d cleared it and both his audio and visual reads were doing fine. He didn’t know when coolant had stopped running down his face, just that it had.

Not that any of it mattered. He still felt like he’d been hit with a convoy class.

“I think so.” He managed to get out. Ratchet nodded, but didn’t release his hold. Ambulon was thankful for it.

Ratchet was quiet for a moment-probably scanning him, but Ambulon couldn’t let it sit anymore. He was back in his own head-well enough to start undoing some of the damage he’d just caused.

Logically, he knew that Ratchet wasn’t Pharma. Was nothing like Pharma, or at least hadn’t been in the two months he’d served under him. But there were still too many unknowns-and it didn’t help that logic couldn’t be applied to Pharma. His processors were used to that, used to knowing that sensible arguments were useless and it was trained now to think everything involving his Head could go south fast.  Ratchet seemed concerned now. He might not be in a few minutes.

So Ambulon did what he could.

“I’m sorry.”  He said, dropping optic contact.

“The frag for?” The way Ratchet said it, it was nearly a demand, but Ambulon felt his surprise through the bond. He hadn’t been expecting an apology-or perhaps he thought Ambulon wouldn’t have apologized then-did he want a proper apology?

What would he consider to be a proper apology? Did it matter, now that Ambulon had given one?

_‘Don’t think about it, just keep going!’_

“Embarrassing you?” Ambulon tried to speak carefully but his confusion showed. He knew it did-this just, was so different than what he had expected. This was part of that anxiety, the reason he feared speaking to Ratchet alone.

Any conversations with him were quick to go off any scripts he was used to and Ambulon just didn’t know how to deal with that. He always seemed sincere under the general grouchiness, always seemed accepting but that couldn’t be right because no one was like that. Even without the mental mess Pharma had left him in, ‘Con Heads didn’t act like that. Their interest stemmed from your value and what you were bringing to their unit. How you were affecting it, behaving in it. They were concerned when it affected the chain as a whole-but things like-like what Ratchet seemed to do were only done between those you had the closest ties too. Those you trusted the most.

He just didn’t know what Ratchet _wanted._

Ratchet sighed, and dragging a hand down his face. “Ambulon,” He said, in his  Serious Voice, “you did not embarrass me. You have never embarrass me and frankly, I doubt you ever will.” A sense of that Ratchet had seen more than a lifetime of things to be embarrassed by anything anymore hit Ambulon through the bonds-but he couldn’t tell if that had been sent on purpose.

“Plenty of mechs have breakdowns in the medical ward. We have securities in place for when it happens. No one saw you, the medbay was dead today as it was. First Aid took over the remainder of your shift, and he’s directed all potential patients to Room 2. And what I think should not be your first concern.” Ratchet continued. Amidst all the uncertainty, the underlying emotions that rolled within Ambulon, he had a startling bad, but clear feeling. The kind of feeling that meant he was in for one of Ratchet’s infamous lectures. The thought shouldn’t have been comforting, but it was, because it was _something_ to cling to.  “No I’m going to suggest you take some time off-”

And right like that, any positive emotions he had promptly vanished. If Ambulon couldn’t be a medic, then he wasn’t useful to his unit. What he would be was a burden, and burden’s never lasted long. Especially not with Pharma. The panic came right back, as though it’d never left, but Ratchet was already backtracking.

“Alright, alright, I wasn’t suggesting you’d never work again, just to take a break. If working helps you than I won’t force you off it. Just don’t pass out with a patient.” The last part was somewhat grumbled.

“Of course not.” That was insulting, but  deserved.

Ratchet vented, one hand rubbing small circles on Ambulon’s shoulder armor. The gesture was meant to comfort, and after Ambulon realized his boss meant for it to do so, he tried to stop tensing. It took a moment-long enough to be noticeable, for him to relax. Or well, begin to relax. Ratchet just kept with the motion, until he’d decided on what he wanted to say next.

“The point is,” He said, like he’d never left off, “this is clearly affecting you badly. It’s fine if you don’t want to talk about it with me, but you do need to talk about it. We both know mental wounds need to be treated just as much as physical ones. If there’s an easier way for you to accept me as a Head, then we’ll take it.”

Some things in life were universal. Medical training on Cybertron was one of those things. Every mech regardless of who they aligned with, had the same basic trainings.  Ambulon did in fact know he needed to be doing something about this to properly function. What he hadn’t known was  if he was in a position to properly deal with it safely. Apparently Ratchet had grown tired of him trying to figure that out.

Not that Ambulon blamed him, considered he had a panic attack _while on duty._

“So you’re options at this point, is myself, ‘Aid, or Rung.”

“Rung?”

“We do employ him as a psychiatrist.”

“Kind of thought that was a cover up.” The admittance wasn’t meant to be a joke, was a product of his fried processor, torn emotions and some exhaust-fueled confusion (because that meant the Autobots really did have a therapist. One that was meant to be a helpful mental health figure rather than a mech using that title to cover up for a job that had no good title. Like Spec Ops, or undercover DJD. And that was just a novel idea to Ambulon.) Ratchet found it amusing anyway.

He  snorted, then rubbed Ambulon’s head fondly. It was oddly soothing-Ambulon wasn’t used to something like that being soothing. He leaned into it, letting it calm him further.

“If it helps you any, if you decide to speak to Rung, I do have ulterior motives. Not for you-for him.”

And there he went again-off the fragging rails.

“Ulterior motives?” Ambulon was too tired to try to guess what this was. If it was a game, or just further talking to calm him down, he didn’t know. Having run himself ragged mentally already, he just gave up trying to guess and let things happen.  

“You are aware of the old Functionalist rule about medics never being the primary physicians of mechs in their units?”  

Ambulon nodded. He was very familiar with it-considering the Functionalists used that rule to arrest, repurpose or deactivate many a lower caste mech. Medic had been loosely determined by someone offering medical aid who ‘obviously had some training’  - meaning any mech offering help could be considered a medic. It was also a double-hitter; mechs who were considered medics but did not have the proper licenses were hit with a multitude of fines, jail time, or repurposed into a ‘proper function; -AKA slave labor. Their unit was typically brought down with them, which kept down mechs trying to treat themselves and their unit mates.

Ratchet had been so unique because he had been a ‘proper’ medic-and a very well known one at that. His shop in Dead End was untouchable by Functionalists both because of his reputation and because the upper castes who knew him thought he was “helping the unfortunate.” In reality he was one of the only options for mechs to get actual medical treatment in places like that, and people had journeyed from all over in hopes to be treated by him.

“It also applied to psychiatrists and mental health authorities. You cannot be in a unit of a patient you treat. Which would make a lot of sense, unless you are in a billion year war and serving on a spaceship.”

A spaceship where every mech was your patient. Ambulon nodded again, showing he understood where this was going.

“Rung refused to join your unit because of this?” He guessed.

“Rung refused to join our unit because of that yes.” Ratchet said, putting emphasis on ‘our.’ “Normally I’d let it go, but it's clearly negatively impacting him, and I cannot imagine not having a unit but being surrounded by them, for as long as he has, is healthy. I agree that in normal circumstances you shouldn’t be in a unit with someone who is or was your patient, but I also understand the definition of ‘normal circumstance.’ At this point, I don’t care whose unit he joins at this point, as long as it’s someone's.”

“And I am-telling him this?”

“Nah kid.” Ratchet said. “You’re not gonna do anything but give me an excuse.”

“If-if talking with Rung would get you in then-” Ambulon started, but Ratchet was already shaking his head.

“Shouldn’t have said it all like I did, that was my fault.” He interrupted. “You need to talk to someone. That person does not need to be Rung, and what I want shouldn’t factor into your decision. You simply make it convenient for me to talk to Rung. I can talk to him on my own just fine if you don’t want to. Your health is my first priority.”

“I-” Ambulon said, then hesitated. Did Ratchet want him to go to Rung? It sounded like he’d be helping his Head if he did, so that obviously meant Ratchet wanted him to-right? He honestly didn’t feel comfortable discussing most of this with First Aid anyway and Ratchet-well Ratchet was just out of the question.

At least, for right now anyway. While Ambulon was apparently prone to anxiety induced fritzing.

“Think on it, and get back to me, alright?” Ratchet said and that was an order, though it lacked any kind of command in it. He just used The Voice-the one that meant he expected to be obeyed.

And Ambulon could do that. He could think about it. He found himself nodding, even as Ratchet started to untangle himself from his subordinate and thus wasn’t looking at him.

“Alright.” Ambulon said. “ I’ll think on it.”

And he did. It didn’t take him long to come to his answer.

Rung it was.


	3. Ambulon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Show of hands, who is is surprised this fic updated!? Me too!!
> 
> So this one technically concludes Ambulon’s story. While Rung’s kicks in next, the way this fic ended up was that after each mech’s “main” ark is concluded their story is “continued” throughout the fic, with just the main focus shifting. They do have multiple arks each and I am still unsure of how that’s going to breakdown fic wise. Currently all I have down for sure is that this fic contains Rung and Drift’s arks, and a second fic contains another character’s ark. Everything beyond that is adjustable until finalized haha.
> 
> I took some liberties with the Tryst part, because it’s been awhile since I read that part of the comic and I needed to change slightly to fit my narrative anyway.
> 
> This chapter incluuuudes; massive bodily trauma, mental trauma, mental/emotional manipulation, death wish, uuhhhhh idk man Pharma’s just a grand ol ass. Want me to add a warning, message meeeee (or add a comment!)

 

 Ambulon’s settled roughly between his unit mates, processor spinning wildly.

For the fifth night in a row.

He was dragging this out. He knew it, Ratchet knew it, fragging Rung knew it (of course he did, because Amublon kept making appointments only to cancel them last minute.) At this point people outside his unit were starting to figure out something was up. 

He just.

Couldn’t do it. 

Talking about it was hard. Was always hard--because he’d been trained explicitly to never talk about it. Not just “Pharma it” either--but the many Decepticon related “it’s.” It was weakness. It painted a target. It was a million negative things.

It was also getting ridiculous though. He wanted to be a productive member of his unit. He’d told Ratchet he would get help. He’d agreed to work on it. Ratchet could be gentle all he wanted but Ambulon knew he couldn’t be like this forever. There was a problem. He needed to fix it. Ratchet clearly, wanted him to fix it. 

Ambulon didn’t believe that anyone would keep him in their unit, if he didn’t improve. Not for a second. 

Tomorrow. He promised himself. He’d do it tomorrow. He’d get all this over with and start doing something about it.

He didn’t.

For once it wasn’t even due to his own incompetence. In fact, it wasn’t his fault at all ( a rare thing to be true, Ambulon was used to everything being his fault. If he thought hard enough, Pharma’s voice, long ingrained in his head would no doubt find a way to make this his fault as well so he’d done his best to just go along with it all.) 

Instead Rodimus turned the whole adventure on its head, heading to Luna 1 with a glee that could only be matched by those out of their right processors. The discovery was a big one. The lost moon, the first discovery that meant that maybe this wasn’t a fool's mission after all. That maybe this whole thing wasn’t just a bad distraction from the uncertainty of the war--or the supposed end of it. 

They’d gotten a party together, gone down. 

Got caught.

Ambulon couldn’t recall exactly what happened. Didn’t care too, once he felt the familiar field tap his own. 

All of Ambulon’s worst fears caught up to him at once, as he onlined his optics to see the face of his old Unit Head. 

_ Pharma.  _

“Hello, traitor,” The jet greeted, as he had hundreds of times before. Just like it was any other day and for a moment Ambulon wondered if he’d hallucinated the entire  _ Lost Light  _ and all the events leading up to it. Rodimus going on the hunt for the lost knights sure as slag sounded made up when he’d heard it the first time, it wouldn’t have surprised him if it was some coping method his processor had come up with. 

Panic crashed with instinct, demanding he remain still, not let Pharma see him rattled. 

_ ‘Too fragging late for that.’  _

He was used to Pharma’s taunts, used to being in a position like this and in the end that was what got him. Because he assumed he knew what would happen. Beatings and accusations, Pharma dragging his favored scalpel to spell out Amublon’s misdeeds in the cracks of his armor. Aiming for protoform, aiming to scar. Waiting for Ambulon to wheeze his sins, to admit he wasn’t fit to be an Autobot. To scream that he didn’t deserve mercy, then beg for it anyway because that’s what made the pain stop. What made Pharma stop.

Ambulon was prepared to play mind games. Steeled himself for them, as Pharma began talking, spewing his typical nonsense about how he “got him” or some such. 

He prepared himself for the wrong thing.

“Have you figured it out by now?” Pharma asked, conversationally, like Ambulon wasn’t strapped down, nearing a blind panic and doing his best to keep himself from showing it. He was checking medical equipment, making adjustments here but there the focus isn’t on them. Not right now. Not when Pharma had a captive audience. He smirked when he saw Ambulon’s confusion. “Oh, you haven’t. Tryst didn’t talk to you?” He tutted, tapping a finger against his lips.  “Amazing, I thought he would at least mention something about your...transformation.”

Pharma was crazy but his conversations could usually be followed. This was completely off the rails and Ambulon mentally scrambled, trying to connect the dots.  Trying to keep up. EVerything was going fast, too fast and all he could think was that he needed to be calm and figure it out. The best way to survive Pharma was to guess his game before hand.

So, Tryst. Tryst was always a favored topic of Pharma’s, an example of the perfect mech, of someone to look up too. A true law abiding citizen. 

Talked to him though? Why would Ambulon talk to him? Sure the medbay they were in was...different, but surely they weren’t in Trysts medbay, where they? 

The train of thought begged a bunch of other questions, such as why were they in a different medbay then Delphi’s -no-- the  _ Lost Light’s- _ \- but his head was fuzzed, muddled from whatever Pharma had knocked him out with and complicated thoughts were hard. Things came and went and the only thing that stayed was the fear, hovering at the edge of it all. Threatening to overwhelm him, drown him, make him weaken in front of the one mech who’d take ruthless advantage. 

Pharma’s optics burned into him, weighing all the small things. Judging, as they always had. 

“Oh this is  _ fascinating. _ I knew you were dumb but I never knew you were _ this  _ dumb.” Pharma purred, coming closer. “You don’t even know where you are, do you? You haven’t got a clue?” The fragger gave a sharp, disbelieving laugh, but slid even closer, to tap Ambulon on the nose. 

“You’re going to give me to Tryst.” Ambulon guessed, trying to keep his voice steady and wincing when it came out a crackled mess. Pharma had threatened to send him to Tryst enough times that it made sense, in a way. Realities where still blending, and the confusion of what was real and what wasn’t loosened Ambulon’s vocalizer. 

Pharma  laughed again, face frighteningly close before pulling back. “Tryst!? What does Tryst care about you?!”

Which made--no sense. At all. Ambulon frowned, which just made his (former? Current?) head laugh even harder, whole chassis shaking. 

“He doesn’t. I don’t think he even remembers you exist.” Pharma was nearly bent over from the show of laughter, hands on his hips. “Well, maybe he would. You did give a few memorable... performances.”

“Performances.” Ambulon echoed, trying to decide if Pharma had lost it or if he had. Ambulon knew drugs as all medics did. Plenty of them could make him hallucinate. 

He would very, very much like to be hallucinating all this. 

“Yes, the turned Autobot. The mech who saw the light, found religion, let the laws save him.” Pharma’s voice titled upwards, into the maniacal way he talked when he was “punishing” Ambulon. Just as quickly as it rose it dropped, back to an amused tonel. “Tryst bought right into it.” 

Bought into it. Performed. 

Acted. 

Ambulon’s chest suddenly felt tight, his armor clamping and his spark constrained. His field starting to ebb and flow with his rioting emotions and smacked right into Pharma’s outreached one. 

“Oh my. Looks like  _ you _ bought into it too.” Pharma’s awful, awful grin was back. “Did you think I cared about any of that? Religion, or the Autobot Code, or the Decepticons? Did you think any of that actually   _ mattered? _ ”  Pharma’s laughter had died to a chuckle, as if Ambulon’s life hadn’t centered around those very things. “Oh you poor thing--did you  _ believe  _ me?” The jet was acting as if this was all a joke--as if the last few years were a histerical misunderstanding. Ambulon struggled to follow, grasping to try and understand the manic medic before him to the religious fanatic he’d served under before. 

Pharma saw it and decided to help him out. 

“I broke you to get to Tryst.” Pharma’s smile grew wicked, cutting as he spoke bluntly. “I needed him, and he wouldn’t help unless I proved I was  _ devoted _ . What better way to do that then to turn a savage? To “redeem” someone?” The jet reached up, giving a mocking, gentle pat to Ambulon’s face. “You proved just the thing I needed. You had a broken T-Cog, and I couldn’t let anyone know I was dealing with Tarn on the side, so I had to take you in. I  _ was _ going to kill you but...” He drawled, dragging the word out “I had a better idea,” Pharma leaned in, the hand on Ambulon’s face gripping him, digging in, “--and you performed brilliantly.”

“Tarn--” Ambulon nearly whispered, talking to myself more than Pharma as he followed the narrative the jet was feeding him. “The DJD?”

“We were in Prime DJD territory.” Pharma’s tone spoke of Ambulon’s stupidity. How _ could  _ have the little medic missed all this? “How did you possibly think I got them to leave our little old base alone? Especially with how many traitors ran to hide with us?” He shook his head as if amazed Ambulon could be so dense. 

_ ‘Leave them alone?’  _ ?Ambulon thought,  _  ‘The Cons that came to them?’ _ Very few Cons came to them to hide, and those that did usually had such terrible wounds that they died on the table. The DJD wouldn’t have cared if they destroyed the whole base to get to even one run away, let alone multiple so why had they been left alone? What would a T-cog--

_ Oh.  _

But of course. Tarn’s addiction. 

Looked like it wasn’t just the Decepticons that knew about it. 

“If anything, you proved to be an excellent experiment. A perfect little Autobot, caught up in his Decepticon past. You would do anything to get my approval, to let you stay, and you bent more than even I thought you would.”  Pharma’s optics looked lit from within, casting a crazed look over his features. Ambulon didn’t care. Because all of it...

All of it had been a lie.

Everything Ambulon had gone through. All the “punishments.” All the times’s he had admitted his sins. Every single moment of time he had served under Pharma.

All he had endured.

His body shook, static fritzing his HUD because he couldn’t take this. The very foundations of what he’d worked for, the person he’d try to build himself to be had all been centered on what Pharma wanted. 

_ ‘Boo you okay?’ _

He’d known what Pharma was doing was wrong, but he’d assumed it was just the wrong approach to what everyone was thinking.

_ ‘Head’s aren’t supposed to do that.’ _

What everyone was thinking. He was a defector. A traitor to his original cause. He was the survivor of an experiment that still haunted him. That the Decepticons still wanted him for. 

He’d changed sides once--what stopped him from doing it again? _ ‘Everyone will question you. What you do, what you did.’ _ That was one of the first thing’s Pharma had told him, and one of the few things that made sense because they would. Ambulon was going to have to prove himself. Prove he was just as respectful of the badge he now wore, and disconnected from the one he’d thrown away.

_ “Primus kid, what did Pharma do you to?” _

He knew Pharma’s methods were twisted but some part of him, deep down, thought that if he could survive, if he could work through Pharma’s rules, then he’d have won his place. Proven himself, truly. Part of it was basic survival, and part of it was the unknown--the uncertainty if all Autobot heads were like this, if this was what he was expected to put up with in every Autobot Unit he served in, but somewhere inside him, he’d taken some of it to spark while he played the game. 

Thought he could succeed, and win favor, if he did everything Pharma asked. In any Autobot Unit. 

_ And it was all a lie.  _

Ambulon’s optics popped wide, his vents struggling to work as he finally reacted. Believed what Pharma had been trying to tell him. His body tried to bend in on itself, to curl in defense, but was stopped by the chains he was strung up on. Distantly he heard Pharma laughing again, but he couldn’t care. 

It hurt. Everything in him was breaking, was broken and it  _ hurt. _

Suddenly Ambulon didn’t care that he was in Pharma’s hands again. Didn’t care what happened to him. He’d been betrayed by the Decepticon medical staff, betrayed by friends and former gestalt members, been stumbling from one traumatic event to another his entire life and he was done. No more. He didn’t want any more. 

He went limp, stopped fighting. What was the point of it?

Pharma did  something then,  injected something in his lines and Ambulon welcomed the darkness. 

He hoped he never woke up. 

xXx

 

“They’re not a part of this. Let them go.” 

Huh. That sounded like his head’s voice. Except his head was right here--Ambulon could feel Pharma’s field. The manic glee he’d always masked on display and projecting through the room. 

First Aid shuddered next to him, his unit-mate’s field a muddled mess and he tried to reach out, tried to grip his hand but found he couldn’t. Chains prevented him, keeping him upright. 

_ ‘Right. That’s right’  _ He thought, the events catching up in his processor.

It wasn't any less of a hit the second time around. Amublon’s optics went flat, his confusion petering out into a void of emotions, and he tried to feel nothing. Any emotion at all, Pharma would use to his advantage. Better to deny him at least some things, while he had the chance. 

“On the contrary, they’ve been entangled in this for a while. It’s just a pity they got caught up between us, isn’t it?” Pharma retorted. The drug he’d used made Ambulon drowsy, his limbs and head heavy. He didn’t think he was supposed to be awake right then but something had pulled him out of the darkness. Was still trying in fact.

He frowned while he tried to figure out what it was. 

“Admit it. I’m the better doctor.” Pharma’s voice was loud, but there was something else under it. Something sharp, pointed. A tone Ambulon couldn’t really place. 

“You’re the better doctor, Pharma. Now let them go.” 

That voice wasn’t Pharma’s. That was--Primus, it was  _ Ratchet’s, _ which matched right up with the tugging. Ambulon’s optics widened, as horror bloomed.

Everything had happened. Everything was real. Pharma had used him as a toy to get into Trysts good graces, had captured him again in order to gain revenge on Ratchet and here Ambulon’s head was, one of the few mechs in the better part of a century to show him any kindness, throwing himself in harm’s way to save Ambulon’s worthless aft. 

He was about to argue he wasn’t worth it, send a private comm for Ratchet to get out and leave Ambulon to his fate when First Aid groaned. Amublon’s head turned--too fast, it made his head swim--but there he was. The other bot who had shown him kindness. 

Pharma couldn’t have ‘Aid. He could do all he liked to Ambulon--had, as something of a tool and a giant personal joke--but Aid didn’t didn’t deserve it. He choked back his own thoughts and sent one text instead. One text was all he needed.

_ Save Aid  _ It read, and he knew Ratchet would read it, even while facing down Pharma. 

It conveyed everything that needed to be said. That Ratchet needed to go for Aid first. That Aid was the priority. That it was okay if he could only get one of them out--

It was okay if Ambulon died. 

_ ‘Don’t fight with him for me.’ _ He thought, as the two top medics circled one another, ‘ _ Fight for someone worth it.’ _

Someone whole and unbroken and nice. 

Things Ambulon would never be. 

_ ‘Just let me go.’ _

xXx

 

_ “You’re the better doctor, Pharma. Now let them go.”  _

“See, I know you.” Pharma said, wagging a finger. “I know you lie. They might not, like everybody else didn’t, but _ I _ know you. Better than anyone, I’d say. So you understand, that I just can’t take you at face value.” And then he giggled, because that's the kind of creep he was. 

“How do you want me to prove it to you, Pharma?”  Ratchet was prepared for anything, anything at all. Pharma had always been about proof, about making others tell him he was better, about humiliation and frag it all Ratchet should have seen this! Should have prevented this, back when Pharma was nothing more than a student! He’d known the jet was driven, known he’d be brilliant and had known he was slightly more intense and a touch more...emotional, than most but this? 

This was _ insane.  _

“What I want, is a test. You’ll agree to one, won’t you?” Pharma pouted, the two of them still inching in an odd dance, Ratchet trying to get closer to his unit mates and Pharma preventing him. 

“Sure.” He was inching closer, annoyed that Pharma knew his game. He needed ‘Aid and Ambulon to be safe, needed to defend them, and they couldn’t even run chained up as they were. He had to move carefully, and was certain he could at least out manoeuvre his former apprentice. 

Unfortunately, the jet had different plans on the processor. 

“To determine which of us is the superior doctor, I propose,”  Pharma shot a grin worthy of any serial killer,” a surgical race. Let’s see who can put our assistants back the fastest when I cut them,” his chainsaw revved a second before he dived and he shouted, “ _ lengthwise!” _

Ratchet wasn’t quick enough to stop him, wasn’t quick enough to save them. He aborted his movements when he knew he wasn’t going to make it, changing so that he slid on his knees to Ambulon, got right to work. 

Because damn it all if he was going to lose them too. 

And when they were back together, when they were okay? 

He was going to  _ murder  _ Pharma. 

xXx

 

Pharma escaped.  

Through a field Ratchet would’ve tried to physically barrel through if he wasn’t so busy trying to fix his Unit Mates. He’d gotten them back to the  _ Lost Light, _ had worked frantically just to get them medically sound enough to make that transfer. Continued in a desperate bid for their lives cursing Pharma the whole way. 

He’d stopped after almost 20 hours of surgery, absolutely exhausted and barely able to make it into a chair before recharge took him. He hadn’t woken up again until Lancet himself could no longer properly function from being awake for so long, and once he was down Ratchet quickly called in Perceptor and Rung in as emergency back ups to help keep an optic on things.

Rung, though he held no medical training, could at least be trusted to properly read a patient's readouts and clean when needed. Perceptor,  as he’d been trained as a field medic for the Wreckers and that experience alone left him more qualified than your basic medic. 

In total, it took a week. An entire week of uncertainty, of not knowing if Ratchet was about to lose two mechs he’d grown attached too. A week of worry and doubt and bad coping methods. Medical Units were always unusually close, even when there wasn’t a war, due to the nature of their jobs. Losing an entire unit wasn’t rare but it was nearly unheard of in their field, and Ratchet feared his own reaction. 

Luckily, it wasn’t something he thought he’d have to face. At least, not yet. 

First Aid came through first, then, slowly, carefully, Ambulon’s vitals followed. They were both able to be pulled from medical status within days of each other, and even that gap was only due to Ratchet’s paranoia surrounding some of Ambulon’s readings. 

Of course pulling him awake didn’t mean this was over. Physically it was likely Ambulon could be brought back to 100%. 

Mentally?

Ratchet didn’t know. Wasn’t looking forward to finding out. But he’d do all he could for the kid, because he was Ratchet’s. Fucked up by Pharma or the Decepticons or whatever the frag else, Ratchet would stand by his own. 

It was all he knew how to do. So he promised himself he would do it. Promised himself and the mechs laying in the med center that this would never happen again. If Pharma chose to go for a third round, Ratchet would be prepared. 

Two could suffer the loss of one. One could not suffer the loss of two. 

He’d make sure that if it came to it, it would always be the former, never the latter. And the sacrifice would never be theirs.   


 

xXx

 

Ambulon sat on their hab’s couch, gazing numbly into the distance. First Aid was tucked into his side, as he had been since the both of them had been released from the medbay. 

Ratchet had banned both of them from working, until their welds had stabilized. Had banned them longer than he really had needed to, but the mental hit had been so great that he and Lancet both agreed to take on the additional workload to give the two younger bots time. (Adding in Rung and Perceptor only when absolutely needed.) 

The additional work meant Ratchet hadn’t seen much of either of them since they had been released two days ago, but he had time now that things had finally settled. Lancet had agreed to hold down the medbay, asking for a follow up on his colleague's health. 

It was for the better, Ratchet thought. Gave everyone time to adjust. To sleep and think and process. Things had finally settled though. Ratchet had taken it as his sign to finally confront what happened, what they’d been left with. What they were dealing with. 

It was time to talk. 

Ambulon looked lost, his armor pale,  optics dead. He should have been sleeping but wasn’t, hadn’t been. He was strained even as his body healed at a normal rate, his physical prognosis scheduled for a full recovery. 

Physical didn’t mean mental. 

First Aid had barely left his side once he’d physically been able to get up. The younger of the two had slept a lot more-recharging the amount Ratchet had expected while Ambulon struggled. 

Not that Ratchet blamed him. He had overheard Pharma.  Had spoken to ‘Aid, who had explained all he could from what he’d heard. 

This wasn’t something everyone came back from. Ratchet knew he’d had to be careful here,  even if all he wanted to do was go add to the cuddle pile currently going on on the couch. Wanted to snarl and rage and protect what was his.

Pharma had hurt his unit mates. The people Ratchet was supposed to protect. It didn’t matter that he had saved them, because he hadn’t been able to stop this from happening in the first place.

Add it to his list of sins. He’d focus on it later.

It was their time now.

He strode forward, pulling his field in, dulling his connection. The unit bonds had finally stabilized, allowing equal access to all those within it. It wouldn’t help here, Ratchet wanted Ambulon to speak without being affected by it.

Haunted optics met his immediately before Ambulon ducked his head and looked away.  Too submissive once again. Right back to square one.

Fragging Pharma. 

He’d given them as much space as he could, while trying his best to balance his need to sit on top of them like a demented Earth hen and snarl at anyone who came near. The only contact he’d really gotten with Ambulon had been through his medical check ups and even then Ratchet had done his best to gentle himself. 

Distance could only do so much though, and some things needed to be said. Now, with Ambulon as well as he was, was the time to say them. 

“You can leave.” Ratchet said it without flinching, starting as he always did by bluntly getting straight into it. “You don’t have to stay here. You don’t have to remain an Autobot.” It was important to get that out first. To enforce that. A Unit was voluntary. It was a choice. 

He wouldn’t blame Ambulon if he wanted to go neutral-or even return as a Decepticon, after all this, and that needed to be said, too. 

“I won’t force you. I won’t force you to do anything.” He added, looking into the bleak stare. Then he waited, to see what direction Ambulon wanted to take this in.

The medical warden stayed quiet, First Aid still passed out next to him, but finally spoke when he realized Ratchet was waiting for a response. 

“I know I’m damaged. ” Ambulon croaked, his optics focusing a bit on his unit-head. “But I don’t have anywhere to go.” He took a vent, seeming to sink further into himself-his distress finally waking up ‘Aid. “I promise I’ll go back to work soon. I just need some more time.” His voice grew quieter, in that tone of someone not quite begging but damn close. “Please let me stay.” He said, armor beginning to rattle.

Ratchet was over in an instant, dropping to his knees in front of him. Fuck safe distances and comfort and everything else. He had been very restrained but the distress he felt coming from the mech wasn’t something he could ignore. That destroyed, beaten look wasn’t something he couldn’t react to. 

“That wasn’t what I was asking you Ambulon. I’d understand if you didn’t want to be a part of,” He made a gesture, encompassing the entire  _ Lost Light. _ The mission in general. The Autobots. “After everything.” He managed to refrain from physically reaching out but his field came forward, full of acceptance, love, and pride, the link between them flaring to life with much of the same. “No one is going to keep you here.”   
Ambulon’s own field flinched away from it, and the medical warden drew it closer. Ratchet left his where it was. An offering, if Ambulon wanted it. 

“Are you kicking me out?” His voice was small, lost, and Ratchet choked his engine before it roared in fury, seeing the mental damage Pharma had inflicted and then re-inflicted. Seeing how Ambulon’s processor interpreted offers of choice as some kind of underhanded way of saying he wasn’t good enough, that Ratchet wanted him gone. 

“Never.” He tried to keep the anger out of his voice, tried to keep his hands from shaking with rage. “You are _mine,_ Ambulon.  But only as long you allow it. I will keep you as long as you let me, and I will protect you even if you leave.” He would too. Ratchet wasn’t one to let go easily. Ambulon had wormed his way into the old CMO’s spark, as few others had. Even unit mates. Ratchet would look out for him for the rest of his life, look for updates on Ambulon even if he defected right back to the ‘Cons. “But the choice is yours. All I am offering is a way out. I will keep you if you don’t want to go. I will _never_ kick you out. But I won’t force you to stay.” 

He feared for a moment he’d overstepped, that he’d sound overbearing and scare the mech all over again but Ambulon took it the other way, relaxing at the possessiveness. Looking at him with something that came through the dead void. 

If anything, he finally seemed convinced of Ratchet’s acceptance. 

“He broke me.” Ambulon choked out, finally, head bowing once more. “I’m not--worth anything. Anymore.” 

Ratchet did touch him that time, and stayed carefully still when Ambulon flinched. The mech didn’t pull away though so Ratchet settled his hand on the mech’s arm. 

“You are not broken.” He said it firmly, packed with the punch of a Unit Head. “And you are worth everything to me.” 

Ambulon’s heaved. Hiccuped. After a moment his field reached out tentatively, tapped Ratchet’s. When the other mech accepted it openly, Ambulon fell forward, burrowing into his Unit Head and letting Ratchet’s arms come up around him. The link between them buzzed, as Ambulon focused on it, and felt the love and acceptance from Ratchet flow from it as well. 

“Take your time, kid. We’ll always be here for you.” Ratchet whispered. He saw an exhausted First Aid nod, and opened an arm to include the other mech in the cuddle pile. 

Unspoken was whether he recovered from this or not. Whether he took five days or five hundred years. Whether Ratchet would be fielding nightmares for the rest of his creation.

Ambulon was his now. Unlike other mechs who had come and go in his Units, Ratchet knew it was for life.

Lifemates were rare, these days. Mechs whose Unit’s you never left. Mechs who weren’t always conjux, but where a step below, close to that line in either friendship or romance. Someone you truly and utterly cared for. 

It may take forever to the mech to realize it, but that didn’t matter. Because Ratchet knew. 

He’d do everything in his power to make sure nothing ever harmed his Unit again. 


End file.
